Bleach.

//

Nick is neat and precise and that has always been an important asset.

He plans every little thing down to the last detail, with meticulous backups for any eventualities that may happen. And in case he's thwarted by the constrictions of time and space, he knows how to improvise.

That is definitely a bigger asset.

//

He methodically slices through flesh and bone and ignores the crunch of splintering bone and the rivers of red that pool around his shod feet.

He's neat and precise and focused and that has always been an asset.

//

When everything has been neatly quartered into tiny portions, he assembles them all in a body bag and layers the top of the chunks with chemicals which will in days dissolve the bones and the flesh. He can hear the satisfying hiss of flesh singeing as it burns and it sounds like sweet lovely, precise music to his ears.

From his childhood, he's always been taught one thing. Obstacles will come your way. But the onus on removing them from the path is on us. And he likes his paths, clean and neat, completely devoid of any obstacles whatsoever.

When obstacles do obstruct his way, he always does what he knows best. He draws up precise and neat plans and removes them, leaving no trace at all.

He now hoses down the floor and watches rivulets of water run into the drain and then he washes the whole place with strong bleach. He scrubs hard, removing even the finished glaze of the tiles in some places.

Bleach is white, bleach is clean, bleach is perfect and bleach removes obstacles and never leaves a trace behind.

He loves bleach and the smell of how strong and ruthless it is.

It also smells of efficiency. Beautiful.

The floor sparkles and he smiles his first smile of the evening. He's a perfectionist and he will not rest until he has achieved it. Now as he looks around, everything is perfect and there's not a trace. Except for the black body bag. It's an obstacle and all obstacles must be removed.

He hefts it up and whistles a cheerful tune. Removing obstacles makes him happy. Especially when the obstacles were particularly bothersome. It makes removing them all the more fulfilling for him. Because in a way, it's like being clean.

And he likes being clean.

Van Dyke was an obstacle from the beginning. He was a cheerful, funny guy. Nick could have let that pass. He would have ignored the weak jokes and the shallow smiles but then Van Dyke became an irritating, aggravating obstacle. He joked with Macy and he smiled at Macy.

And never once did Nick feel angry. He just felt thoughtful and meticulous. It was obvious that Van Dyke would have to go.

Nick is a perfectionist.

Macy Misa is perfect in every which way.

Van Dyke just did not compute in this equation of perfection, poor sucker. He didn't fit in from the start.

Nick and Macy are perfect.

And that's the only way Nick see's things. It's the only way he finds acceptable. And while he's regretful, he's not really sorry. Perfection needs to be maintained and preserved. As Darwin said, only the fittest survived. And therefore only perfection survives. Van Dyke is not perfect, so it's logical to assume that he cannot remain in close proximity to Macy. It will ruin the perfection that is Macy otherwise.

He neatly stacks the bag in the trunk of his car, right next to the spare wheel and draws the hood now. He gets into the car and then shuts the door and drives for twenty minutes to his destination. There he gets out and then looks around for people. Its two o'clock in the night but you can never be too sure. He takes the bag out, pauses for a moment and then he hurls it into the river, carefully, precisely. The resounding splash is satisfying and he knows that the river is about three hundred feet deep. The bag will sink to the bottom and the chemicals will help the body decompose and dissolve the bone and no one will ever know.

It's perfect.

(A long drawn out sigh of pleasure escapes him. Perfection is almost…orgasmic sometimes with its adrenaline fuelled high.)

//

A few days later Nick sits on the couch with his arm around his Macy and watches the news. The newscaster looks somber as she announces that Van Dyke is missing and the search efforts have failed. He's probably dead and nobody holds any hope for his return.

Macy cries and Nick feels a little blank. For a few moments, his fingers near her soft neck twitch. Tears are imperfection and he can't stand imperfection.

Perfection is what he aims for.

The tears stop and his fingers stroke her neck. They don't twitch anymore but the gently stroke her neck, lovingly and caressingly. It will all be perfect again. All he needs is a little patience.

But all the same, he'll keep the bleach handy.

Because you never know.

a/n - Morbid is what I aim for. It was a little cliché but more than that it was a writing exercise for me to test waters. I like it anyhow. :)